Ghazals are Really Hard to Write.

Patriotism Revisited.

Perceiving a life with nothing to gain? That hits me hard.

Seeing a future go straight down the drain? That hits me hard.

These are the sights no one ever wants to believe, behold.

Witnessing innocent children in pain? That hits me hard.

All the lies that journalists send to print, ignoring facts,

Like detecting corruption; unjust reign? That hits me hard.

Politicians hiding behind their fancy suits, lying

About care for families of the slain? That hits me hard.

Soldiers firing at anything that moves through their patrol,

They cannot fathom the foreigner’s strain. That hits me hard.

Citizens rallying for them to stay and continue,

Not believing what statistics contain? That hits me hard.

But those of us who fight for what we know is just and fair,

Those of us who hold vi’lence in disdain? That hits me hardly.

Block. [Writer's]

Block. [Writer’s]

“Who is more to be pitied, a writer
Bound and gagged by policemen or one
Living in perfect freedom who has
Nothing more to say?”
One could say that the
Writer bound and gagged is under extreme
Duress. One who says that knows not the plight
Of being one who writes. He does not see
The pain and humiliation of dead
Lines. Does not see the abuse of guidelines.
Not see the formalities of scansion.
See the criticism of friends/enemies.
The distrust of editors, peers, contacts.
Hardship of rhyme, of syllabics, of verse.

Oh to be bound and gagged! For then I would
Have so much to say. Oh to lose this
Perfect freedom, to lose this right to write.
Then, only then, could I write what’s right.

Born Into This.

Born Into This.

Since the beginning I knew that this would
Be the manner which my life progressed.
With my head always up, I understood
That no positive would come from protest.

And so I relied on this slow decline
To keep me from wondering what would come
Next, or how these cruel fates would intertwine,
Couldn’t believe to what I would succumb.

Began to do what’s needed to survive,
Thought about not going on anymore.
Suddenly, a brilliant plan: to revive;
Myself, into one with a grand rapport.

Then I realized my world’s special feature:
There is nothing called ‘hope’ in my future.

An Elegy for J. Alfred Prufrock.

As we know, the five of us,

J. Alfred was a private man.

We know of course what he wanted to be,

But how was he before the tricks began?

Did we all simply get to know

What had been measured out in spoons?

Did we all simply see the show,

He put on to make the ladies swoon?

But of course they never did,

And of course he always tried again.

Despite their lack of quality within,

Their shining wrists attracted him.

And now we know his bald spot was

Actually atop his head,

For all this time the common buzz

Was that it was below his skin.

As we lay him down to rest

With sawdust on his feet,

I cannot help but recall

What he once said to me:

He said, “You know I always thought,

I could just change one day,

I can be whomever I want,

The person I wish to convey”.

I told him, “J., do you not know?

They see right through your lies!”

And now you know what happens next:

After a deep sigh, he dies.

What is a Poem?

A story with meter and at times rhyme,

A creature climbing mountains in record time.

A landscape crowded with flowers and sun,

A tale that’s over before its begun.

A poem is a flower forever in bloom,

A poem can help tell you what to presume.

On beautiful nature or frightening Death—

Events that freeze your lungs or of your last breath.

A brisk read or one that can linger,

Endings sum up or they are cliffhangers.

A poem can leave you with sweat on your brow,

It can be read by all petals on the bough.

The basic premise is that we can learn,

Infinite lessons from a poet’s concern.

Appreciating each poet’s affliction,

Can help us to learn the supreme fiction.

June it is then.

I just got a phone call telling me that I have been accepted to the June residency at Antioch University.
Awesome.
I can't wait to go there, I need to be in Los Angeles by 6:00 on June 19th.
I need to buy a plane ticket, rent a car, and find a hotel.
Takes money to make money right?
I'm excited.
-Dave

Gradz.

So I'm going to Antioch University in Los Angeles starting in December 2008. So far I'm two for two in getting into first choice schools. Here's my tally:

Undergrad:
First Choice: University of Miami (accepted)
No other applications.

Grad School:
First Choice: Antioch University (accepted)
Second Choice: Fairleigh Dickinson University (still awaiting admission decision)
Third Choice: Lesley University (denied...oh wells.)

So anyway, I'm excited about starting school and I'm trying to start writing again. I want to have a book length manuscript ready by the time I start grad school.

My work on editing, rewriting and adding many poems to "Variations on a Theme: Poems to Mt. Olympus in the 21st Century" begins today.

Thanks,
-Dave